


Mud in the Silver Fountain

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-03
Updated: 2003-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:24:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: SPOILERS : Chain ReactionSUMMARY : A pre-quel to Chain Reaction. Harry Maybourne reflects as he sits on Death Row.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;  
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,  
And loathsome canker lives in the sweetest bud.  
All men make faults.  
Shakespeare: Sonnet 35

When did I begin to question who I am? Begin to ponder what has shaped me into the person I have become?

Maybe it was when I stood at attention and heard the sentence of death pronounced. Or when I saw the smug self-satisfied looks on the faces of the same people who had given me my orders. 

Orders which I had carried out faithfully to the best of my ability. Orders which now deemed the need for a scapegoat. A goat, because when you've made a career working for the kind of people I have, you lose the innocent characteristics to qualify for the role of sacrificial lamb. Even if the end result is the same. I lost my purity and innocence a long time ago. And with the bang of a gavel I have been condemned to carry the weight of the sins of my cohorts upon my shoulders along with my own. 

As I am led away I see in their eyes that I have fulfilled my ultimate purpose.

Who am I? 

One would think when a man reaches this stage in his life he should know. This morning when I woke up I was Colonel Harry Maybourne, USAF. Colonel ... a title I'm proud of. One I worked damn hard to earn. And yes, despite what some might think, I *earned* it. I may not always have taken the straight and narrow path others have chosen. May not have taken the high road, but I got where I was going just the same. It didn't come easy. And yes, there were costs. Big ones, but I paid the price along the way. I paid my dues. I served my country well, and where did it lead me? Right into a cell on Death Row. And if my former associates have their way ultimately into a grave. 

Who am I now? 

Prisoner S2989 ... Convicted traitor ... Betrayer of his country ... Despised ... Outcast ... Death Row inmate ... 

Not exactly how I imagined my life would end up when I joined the Air Force. I was pretty much like any other kid. I joined up to fly jets, but I found out soon enough that the sky wasn't going to be where I would make my home. I soon found that my talents led me, not up into the wild blue yonder, but down into the muck and mud of the underground caverns of government and political sleeze. Worming my way through the ooze where the corrupt make their homes. Feeling my way through by my fingertips until I developed a knack for seeing in the darkness, finding exactly what I was searching for, and beating those muckity-mucks at their own game.

But they've changed the rules of the game and now they think they have me in checkmate. But I've played their game too long to be taken by surprise and I'm too skilled a player not to leave myself a backdoor. Although, right now, it is temporarily locked, I may still have a few moves that will surprise them. This pawn may prove to still be a major player or at least take down a few men who would be kings.

They say politics makes strange bedfellows. I can attest to that. Not that I was a moral virgin when I crawled between their sheets. But the group who took me in taught me a whole new meaning to political prostitution. They taught me to use power as my drug of choice. Carefully concealing it, at first, behind the guise of duty to my country, I swallowed it without question. Before I knew it, I was a user. A user, being used. And gradually I became a user, who used others. 

It is hard, now, to remember a time when I didn't constantly check over my shoulder. A time when I didn't cover my tracks so well a bloodhound with a search warrant couldn't possibly have found them. A time when I didn't stretch the truth like a rubber band and pray it didn't snap me in the ass. 

Hard to remember a time when I trusted anyone or had them trust me. When did I lose the ability to even trust myself to do the right thing? 

It's been a long time.

I'm not so different from Jack O'Neill, you know? Not so different at all. Jack and I have walked much the same road wearing the same boots. The only difference is, he wasn't willing to take a short cut now and again when the opportunity presented itself. 

But that's Jack. So bull-headed stubborn he never allowed himself to take the path of least resistance. He always had to make things hard for himself and everyone else. Sometimes I wonder how he ever made it as a Special Ops colonel. You don't serve a lifetime with that branch and come out smelling of lilacs and roses. You don't unless you are Jack O'Neill. 

The Lone Ranger ... Robin Hood ... Sir Lancelot ... all rolled into one. That's Jack O'Neill. 

Jack and I both know it's an act. He's gotten his hands just as dirty as I have all in the name of patriotism. But for some reason, Jack has played the hero to my villain. Ah, but in every great play there must be those two characters ... the hero and the villain. Jack and I have performed before the same audience, for the same goals, but he gets the cheers, I get the scorn. 

And I wonder, sometimes, just what it would be like to portray the hero. 

Othello, not Iago.

Just once. 

I'm not sure even Jack realizes just how much he and I are alike. Because, despite what others may think, I have always loved my country and done what I could to defend her anyway I could. Who are people like Jack O'Neill, with their line-in-the-sand morality, to say I was so wrong? No, Jack and I aren't so different. Jack thinks in terms of black and white and I move in shades of gray. But we both complete the task laid before us. We get the job done. It's just our methodology that separates us. 

That and the people behind us. 

I've seen the look on Jack's face when his team is threatened. He cares. Too much.

They are his Achilles' Heel. 

They are his strength.

He and I both know they won't abandon him should he need them. Ever. Because they care about Jack, too. 

I learned long ago the cost of caring. I traded that commodity for the art of manipulation. I learned that it's pretty much only the winning that counts in my line of work, not how you get across the finish line. And I learned to use whatever means I had available to get the job done.

Whereas Jack uses honor, loyalty, courage, and discipline as his swords to slay the dragon. As the Black Knight, I have a wide variety of alternative weapons in my arsenal. Effective weapons such as bribery, lying, blackmail, and subterfuge. Used right, by the right person, they will make sure a dragon is just as dead. 

I know. I've dealt with fire-breathing dragons my whole career. And while I may have walked away from the battle reeking of death and corruption, it was I who walked away. And who's to say what the sweet smell of victory is supposed to smell like anyway? 

But, I suppose, the smell of victory doesn't include the reek of fear that permeates Death Row. 

The smell of abandonment ...

The smell of hopelessness and regrets ...

And therein lies the rub, because while I may have regrets, I will never see my situation as hopeless. I may be wearing a different sort of uniform, temporarily, but it still has long sleeves. And as long as it does I still have room to hide a trick or two. People haven't heard the last of me. Others have made the mistake of believing that. Oh no, I'm not finished yet.

Who am I? 

I'm Harry Maybourne ... survivor.

**The End**

  


* * *

  


> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have always seen Harry Maybourne as Stargate's version of Fagin in the musical 'Oliver.' He is the villian I love to hate. One who is aware of his own faults and shortcomings and the impropriety of his activities, but who chooses not to give up his 'evil' ways. Harry is the leopard who doesn't change his spots, but rather uses them to camouflage his subversion. He is the silver fountain full of mud. Many thanks to Karen (Kent) who took time away from her own writing to beta this fic. Karen, if you are a rose with thorns, I have yet to find them. I only see a true 'bud,' who makes my garden all the more beautiful for your friendship. Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated.

* * *

> © 27th April, 2003 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.   
> 


End file.
